


changes come around real soon

by cinnamonears



Category: Doctor Who & Related Fandoms
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-12
Updated: 2016-05-12
Packaged: 2018-06-08 00:15:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,026
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6831112
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cinnamonears/pseuds/cinnamonears
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"They hadn’t exactly had schedules that synchronized; she was studying archaeology, he was on a course for time agent hopefuls, and the two paths of study didn’t exactly march in beat with one another."</p>
            </blockquote>





	changes come around real soon

**Author's Note:**

> jack sits back, collects his thoughts for a moment  
> scratches his head and does his best james dean  
> “well now there, diane, we ought to run off to the city  
> diane says, "baby, you ain’t missing nothing”

Basically Jack and River during their time at Luna University. Or, well, the start of things. I love this entire idea, so please, oh please, give me prompts for it. I’m begging you. 

The first time they meet isn’t even in class. Looking back later, River supposes that it would have been difficult to do that. They hadn’t exactly had schedules that synchronized; she was studying archaeology, he was on a course for time agent hopefuls, and the two paths of study didn’t exactly march in beat with one another. So it’s no surprise that their first encounter is after hours. They don’t even speak. He has the slight misplace of his step that is characteristic of a man who enjoys a few too many drinks on a Friday night; she is walking quickly because the darkness frightens her since casting off Mels and becoming River Song. They’re going opposite directions, but there’s something that causes their eyes to lock, and a sense of kinship fills her. Maybe it’s because he’s been drinking that she can see his own demons in his eyes, but the smile he offers to hide them is so very familiar.

She hurries past because she has a paper on the Fall of Greater Egypt due tomorrow and no more time for socializing tonight.

The second time they meet is at a party. She’s made friends here, various other history and science majors who enjoy talking about chaos theories and time travel. The latter is still a relatively new concept for the 51st century, so she plays the fool; this isn’t difficult. She wasn’t born here, and she misses many of the pop culture references, despite doing her best to be more knowledgeable about them. Sometimes she slips and says something so 21st century that they do a double-take, and it’s widely accepted that she is so deep into her study of archaeology that she has had time for little else. They tease her and call her Indy (miraculously, Indiana Jones has survived into the 51st century, though the story is a little different) and make promises to take her to performances and movies. They see her as a person under-nourished on culture, when really she is just comprised of so many cultures that she can never figure out which defines her the most. She decides she prefers the ambiguity. 

The party is being thrown by one of her fellow archaeology majors, Dawn. Dawn is dating a girl from the time agency track, and therefore company is more mixed than usual. Some of the more subdued history majors keep eyeing the clean-cut time agent-to-bes with skepticism, but River feels more at home among them than most of her classmates. They lounge about with assurance in their own skill, and she smiles the smallest of smiles. This is how she finds him, propped on a stool as if it is his throne and speaking in a low voice to the person next to him. Though she can’t gauge their conversation, it’s obvious what the man is hoping for. She slides onto the seat opposite.

“I didn’t know you were coming to this party, sweetheart! You said you had studying to do.”

The man pauses and turns to look at her with an expression that effectively conveyed irritation. She suppresses a giggle. “Excuse me?”

River leans around him towards the person on the other stool, whose eyebrows were lifted in distaste. “Don’t you just hate it when they do this? Run off like you aren’t going to find out they’re out flirting with everything they can find, bless.” She turns back to the man, though she watches the other leave from the corner of her eyes.

To her surprise, he is surveying her with nothing more than amusement now. “Satisfied?”

She tilts her head, gives him the same appraisal. “Marginally.”

The waves of confidence radiating from him are almost stifling. “And are you looking to increase that margin?” She smirks.

“No, not quite.”

“Oh, going for the mysterious angle. I like it.”

River doesn’t mention that she’s learned from the best. She’s asked others if they’ve heard of the Doctor, but those that do only have heard it as a legend. “What can I say? A liar knows another liar.”

The way he leans back, he’s surveying her with new eyes, and she approves. Whatever he sees, it’s clear that he likes it, and she smiles at him with that smile, the one that once belonged to Melody Pond but she is learning to mold into River Song, the one with dangerous eyes and sloping eyebrows, and she takes his hand when he offers it. “Jack Harkness.” He says, and she savors the name. It is a proper English name, she thinks, probably from the Scottish moors, and she can’t help but relish her smirk when she recalls the meaning of his given name: “the Maker is gracious”. She wonders if it is his actual name or a chosen name, then decides it doesn’t actually matter.

When she gives her own, it is with a sense of pride that he will interpret as smugness, and although there is a bit of that mixed in, the true nature is anything but. “River Song.”

The third time is what finally does it, because one night swapping stories and pretending to be war heroes over drinks at a university party does not promise any sort of follow up conversations; that is, unless you are found by Jack Harkness in the corner of a library, pouring over ancient texts that actually have nothing to do with any of your classes. When he speaks, he’s leaned himself against a bookcase, trying to pull that handsome time-agent-to-be stuff again (she’ll make fun of him for it shortly, but she’ll never admit that it works).

He mentions that there is a pod leaving soon for supplies, going to a nearby planet to retrieve things that can’t be properly grown or manufactured on a moon’s surface, and that, well, he doesn’t want to brag or anything, but the locks are so very easy to pick.

The book begins gathering dust within minutes.


End file.
